


Baby Steps

by Nestra



Series: Baby Steps [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-01
Updated: 1999-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:24:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nestra/pseuds/Nestra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair. A nocturnal encounter, but not the kind you might expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Steps

It's all about baby steps.

The anthropologist in me finds this interesting. I mean, this is Jim we're talking about. Jim, the man of action, the military man who laughs at danger. He's done stuff, survived stuff I can't even imagine enduring. But it's impossible for him to admit that he needs me, needs anyone. I know the choking fear that grips him whenever he thinks about it. God knows, it chokes me too.

If my childhood taught me one thing, it was not to depend on any one person too much. I never knew when Naomi might decide it was time to leave. I learned how to pack everything I owned into one duffel   
bag in an hour flat. Don't get me wrong; it's not like it was constant misery. Growing up like that had a lot of advantages. I got to experience more by the age of ten than most people do in a lifetime. I saw the sun come up over Kenya. I went ice fishing with the Inuit. I danced with the Navajo and the Cree.

But I also learned how to be friends with someone without becoming too attached. That way, I was spared the agony of separation when I left. Because I knew I would always leave. I always made sure the unseen walls were in place, protecting me. It's much easier to leave when your friends aren't vital to you.

Despite the fact that my life is different now, old habits die hard. I've been on my own for over ten years. I know that I won't be leaving unless I want to. But I don't have any really close friends. I have friends, girlfriends, colleagues, peers...and I have Jim. Jim is...everything. Our friendship is complex, multi-layered. It's wonderful. And intense. The thought of needing Jim like I do scares the shit out of me. Imagine what it must do to him.

It scares him enough to override his natural inclination to confront trouble head-on. I'm not the Sentinel here, but I know that he used to lie in his big bed upstairs and listen to me. I could feel it, the way I can feel the reluctant desire pouring off him as he stands there, silhouetted in my doorway.

"Can I watch?"

It's asked quietly, almost reverently. I'm not sure what to say. I want to demand an explanation. I want to jump out of bed and throw myself at him, not caring if he'll catch me or not. I want to ask him why he can't just admit that he loves me. I know he does. I am the Jim expert, after all. I want to remind him of this, to assure him that I could never hurt him, never judge him, never leave him.

So in the end, I say nothing. I know he will interpret my silence as consent, which it is. It always is, every time we play out this little game. In the light of day, we can both pretend this doesn't happen. He can still be the big, bad, hetero male; I can still be the objective observer.

Well, maybe not objective, but it's better than admitting I want to fuck my research subject senseless.

And wasn't that a surprise? Never mind the fact that he's a straight cop. He's my Sentinel. Okay, so maybe at first I saw him as a source of information for the diss. But I quickly realized that I had an obligation to this decent, honest, good man. He needed my help. He needed me. And it was nice to be needed. No one has ever depended on me like Jim does, and he's the best friend I have ever had.   
I never wanted to do anything to mess that up.

That's why I denied what I was feeling for so long. And when I finally admitted it to myself, I swore that I would never tell Jim. Things were good the way they were, and damned if I was going to do anything to change that.

Of course, it turns out that it wasn't really my decision after all.

I can hear his hands moving in time with mine. It excites me to know that he can see me clearly. He can see the way my fingers feather over the head of my cock, the way I catch my lower lip in my teeth to muffle the moans that want to pour out of me at the thought of his hands on me, his mouth on mine.

At least this is progress. The first time he appeared in my doorway, he couldn't even get the words out. It really startled me; I'm not accustomed to being interrupted while I'm masturbating. I thought something was wrong, that he was sick, or that the loft was on fire. But he didn't say anything, and I realized with humiliation that he had heard me quietly moaning to myself. I tensed up in anticipation of a lecture on being a considerate roommate. But he still didn't say anything, and with a shock, I realized that he was waiting for me to continue.

So I did.

He just stood there, watching, as I came silently, and then disappeared into his silence upstairs. I wasn't sure if I had dreamed the whole thing, but I sure as hell knew that he wasn't going to talk about it. It was months before he showed up at my door again. I waited for him to say something, anything. But he just stood there. After a few seconds, I gave up waiting. Instead, I continued stroking myself, wondering what he was feeling. By the time I came down from my orgasm, he was gone.

The first time he asked permission, I wanted to let out an exultant yell, to leap up and pound him on the back. But I knew that would only send him running.

So I said nothing.

Sex is terrifying enough normally. I mean real, passionate, connected sex, not the stuff people use to stave off everyday loneliness. Add to the mix the fact that Jim and I are both confirmed heterosexuals. Then take into account the fact that between the two of us, we have enough intimacy issues to send a shrink's six kids to UCLA. And don't forget the fact that Jim _was _military and _is_ a cop. So it's no big surprise that we're here; me in my bed, Jim in my doorway, both of us with our hands on our cocks and not on each other's.

But we're making progress. One night, when he asks if he can watch, I'll invite him to join me instead. And eventually, he'll take me up on that offer. But for now, I'm content with the silent assent and the quiet observation. Baby steps give us time to get used to this, whatever it is. I never would have believed that I would be comfortable lying here, letting Jim watch me jack off. But here I am, stroking myself to an incredibly satisfying climax. They're always good when Jim watches. I feel it approaching now, as I struggle not to close my eyes. I've learned that if I concentrate, I can see Jim's silhouette tense up as he comes. I can even pretend that I hear his heartbeat increase as he gets more and more turned on by what he sees.

I speed up my strokes as my other hand drifts downward, playing with my balls. I ease a finger into my body and gently fuck myself with it. Oh, Jim likes that. I know I'm not imagining the gasp I hear from him. I feel the phantom touch of his hands running over my chest, pinching my nipples. I imagine his hot mouth on me, licking, sucking, biting...and that does it. I tense up and let out a guttural moan, which is echoed immediately by Jim's, and then we're both coming together...

But not together.

A moment passes.

I hear him start to leave, and suddenly I decide it's time for another step.

"Stay?"

He hesitates.

"Please, Jim."

I can almost hear the little gerbil churning the wheels inside that head of his. The fear is warring with the desire, and I honestly don't know which one will win. But the gods must be on my side tonight, because he turns back and slips into bed next to me, being very careful not to meet my eyes.

I know he'll be gone before I wake up. But as I slip into sleep, I decide that this is okay. All I have to do is be patient, and everything will eventually work itself out. Jim loves me, and I love him. We'll get there.


End file.
